


The Far North

by proser132



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: M/M, Magic, Romance, Slash, anime-compliant, illogic, or suspicions thereof, the rest of the cast - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-04
Updated: 2011-08-04
Packaged: 2017-11-13 20:55:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/proser132/pseuds/proser132
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It felt like doing the right thing - and finding out the truth of what the hell Mustang was doing - was as close to Ed as the far north. X-post from FFN.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Far North

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is an xpost from ffn, as I am currently in the process of moving over here. More will follow, but for tonight, it's just the most recent oneshot. I present to you, humbly from the fabulous Proser Corp.,

**The Far North**

.....

Edward Elric didn't believe in God. As far as he knew (or cared), God was a bedtime story dreamed up to help weaker people sleep at night. Nothing more than a way to explain things they were too stupid to understand. He never said that particular opinion aloud near Al, who would hit him for it, but it was what he thought, dammit.

He hadn't believed in magic, either, until very recently; it was just a lay-person's way to explain alchemy, and as he held the knowledge of the Gate in his mind, he figured he didn't need an explanation, thank you very much.

But for the first time in his life, he was wondering if one of his core beliefs was wrong. He only had a few to doubt, you see, so it was better not to doubt them at all; but something was _happening_ to him, something unexplainable, and it was frankly shitting him right up the wall.

His core beliefs (in order of vehemence) were as follows:

One. You can't go back.

Two. Family is everything.

Three: There is no God.

Four: There is no magic.

Five. Roy Mustang is a bastard of monumental proportions.

All five had served as pillars for him to stand on, holding him up from the age of twelve onward; now that he was twenty-four, he had had every reason to believe they would never waver. There were, of course, minor pillars that helped as well, like _be thou for the people_ and _the military sucks ass_ , but for the most part he had relied on those five strongest to make up his core self, and they had served him well.

Until the day he decided that Roy Mustang _must_ know magic, or something very like it, and was using it to make his life hell.

.....

Ed opened the door to the office, trying to take care to be as unobtrusive as possible.

He had fucked up this last mission spectacularly. It was an _achievement_ in the history of his various fuck-ups, and that was saying something. This bested the civil war in Lior. This bested his stint on Earth. Okay, not the last one ( _that_ had been hell), but certainly the first, as he may or may not have skipped the civil war and created a country all on his own.

...It _still_ wasn't his fault, no matter what the supervisor of the formerly-known-as South-South East District said in his report. Or the new High Empyror of Shamballa (he'd winced when he'd heard _that_ name) said in his announcements to his former government. It was the fault of the banquet coordinator, who tried to poison the Hero of the People by putting enough arsenic in his fettuccine alfredo to kill a blue whale. Was it Ed's fault that the region split off in protest? No, it wasn't.

But Mustang wouldn't see his side, blank-goes-here knew, and would insist in lecturing him for at least three hours before putting him on unpaid suspension, which Ed did _not_ need, because he was already behind on his rent. Al was starting to talk about dropping out of college to get a job, and that was rock bottom plus a pick-axe.

Ed slipped through the door, and shut it behind himself so quietly that no one in the office looked up from the work they were diligently pretending to do. Even Hawkeye, normally alert on the point of paranoia, didn't look up from the small stack of papers before her.

Ed wondered for a moment if they would notice if he left again, and was considering it seriously enough to reach for the handle when a sharp, cold voice said, 'Do it, Fullmetal, and I'll set the door on fire.'

Evidently he wasn't the only one in the office capable of stealth. He winced and turned, trying his best to look normal (i.e., irritated) vs. himself (i.e., anxious on point of fear).

'H-hey, Mustang,' he said, trying to look anywhere but the darkly malevolent gaze that was pinning him to the door. He mentally kicked himself for the stumble in words, and was about to try again when the white-gloved hand came up. Ed prepared for the snap that would spell his fiery doom, when it jerked its thumb towards the inner office.

'Inside, Fullmetal, and get out of my way,' Mustang snarled. 'I'm going to need more coffee.'

Ed stiffened and refused to move. That tone of voice from anyone else would have sent him dodging, certain of Deep Shit coming his way, but it was the principal of the thing. He never gave in to Mustang. Ever.

...Mustang's glare might be good incentive, though. And there was a first time for everything.

He stepped to the side quickly, and Mustang strode past him, opened the door, and shut it sharply behind him.

Abruptly, the entire room released a deep breath Ed hadn't known they were holding, and Ed found himself shaking Havoc's hand.

'Didn't think you were going to make it, boss,' the older man said, letting go and shakily lighting a cigarette. He took a deep puff that was immediately exhaled in a cloud of smoke that smelled oddly of relief. 'Hell, I didn't think _I_ was going to make it.'

'You still might not,' came Mustang's voice ominously through the door, and Havoc dove for his seat.

Ed decided that standing in front of the door Mustang was liable to set aflame instead of opening wasn't a very good idea, so he took a deep breath and stepped into the inner office, shutting the door behind him.

He flung himself onto the black couch that had been present ever since he could remember, and flung his arm in turn over his eyes.

Well, a “thank you” would have been appreciated. It wasn't as if he hadn't _hauled ass_ across the _damn country_ in order to deliver his report. And, well, to get home, but that wasn't really any of Mustang's business. The _point_ was, he'd gotten here as fast as possible instead of dawdling like usual and avoiding Mustang's wrath, so he should get some major points.

The door opened and shut with a click, and Ed tensed.

A huff followed, and then, 'I'm not going to set you on fire, so you can stop acting like you're in front of the firing wall.'

'So to speak,' Ed snapped back, but did not relax and did not remove his arm from his face. He'd given his report like this before, and while it had irritated Mustang then, he figured he was already on Death Row. Might as well make himself comfortable.

A few minutes of shuffling papers, and then Mustang's voice asked, 'Would you like to explain _how_ , exactly, a State Alchemist can legally create a new country?'

Ed sat up and glared his best at Mustang. 'It's not my fault, and if you'd bother to read the report I have –'

'The one you haven't yet given me,' Mustang pointed out, eyebrow arched so high Ed wished sullenly that it would fly off his face.

He tugged the papers from inside his jacket and tossed them in Mustang's general direction. Infuriatingly, the man caught them without so much as bending a page, and sat down to read.

Ed lay back down on the couch, glaring up at the ceiling. Al would tell him he was acting like a kid again, but this _sucked_. On a scale of one to ten, he figured he was at least at a nineteen in terms of how crap his day was. As if to add insult to injury, his landlord was threatening eviction if the back rent on the place wasn't paid by the thirtieth, and Ed did _not_ have that kind of cash at the moment. He supposed that if he sold some of the older texts on alchemy he had memorised, anyway, he _might_ squeak by, but –

'Fullmetal, you're muttering. I'd thank you to keep quiet.'

'Muttering by definition is quiet, bastard,' Ed snapped, but his cheeks were flushing, he just _knew_ it. Bad enough that Mustang was going to make today hell, know he knew that he was adding the cherry to the top of Ed's suck-tastic sundae. Which meant he'd go all out. Like he'd done before.

Ed almost groaned, but even the prisoners on Death Row knew not to hurry up their appointment with the needle. Besides, Ed hated needles. He shuddered at the thought of them.

'Well,' Mustang said a few minutes later, evidently having finished the report, 'It could have gone worse.'

Ed sat up, mouth falling open. ' _Worse_?' Ed repeated in his most annoying singsong voice. 'How could this be _worse_? Mustang, there's another _country_ now that's –'

'Apparently fiercely loyal to you, if they seceded because you almost got poisoned,' Mustang said. Then Ed flinched; oh, Gate, it was one of those days. Mustang the Political Machine was at full steam ahead.

Then, so fast he almost gave Ed whiplash, he changed tactics, saying, 'That part of the country has been threatening secession for years, anyway.'

'There could be a _war_!' Ed exclaimed, trying very hard to not flail in indignation. 'Other parts of the country could secede! _Do you not see the problem here?!_ '

'Once again, Fullmetal,' Mustang said drily, 'Your political astuteness astounds me.'

_End sarcasm,_ Ed added in his head before Mustang continued.

'If you look closer, you'll see that you've actually done Amestris a large favour.' Mustang picked up a small stack of papers from his desk and flipped to one of the middle pages. 'You've just rid us of many dissidents against the rather corrupt regime in the area, which allows us to replace them with different ones and bargain with the people – and allows _me_ to gather more support. You know that since the previous Fuhrer's death, another hasn't been chosen due to disagreement among the people, who demand to have their voices heard.' Mustang smiled, and that's when it happened.

Ed stared; it was like Mustang had previously been a 2D picture that just stepped off the page and began to breathe. He looked like a person, all of a sudden, not just the asshole behind a desk; no, now he was a bastard who was capable of movement and free-thought and being _unpredictable_ , dammit. Mustang didn't _smile_ , he _smirked_ , but here it was in all its glory, a genuine smile without anybody else in the room. Which meant it was for Ed.

Which meant Ed was insane.

'In other words, you've just brought me a step closer, and Amestris a step closer, to having a – where do you think you're going, Fullmetal?'

'To find a shrink, because I think there's something wrong with me.'

.....

Ed had managed, by a stumble and a kick, to pay the back rent, and now he stared around his apartment forlornly. All of his rare books had been sold, leaving several of his shelves bare of once familiar leather-bound spines; but it had been enough to pay the rent and most of Al's tuition (thank whatever for scholarships) for the next semester, so _that_ was alright.

Which just left the puzzle of _what the fuck_ was wrong with Mustang.

Contrary to Ed's words, he hadn't gone to a shrink – funds as dangerously low as they were, it wasn't worth it. And Al had just given him a pitying look when he'd explained what had happened, like it was about time Ed saw Mustang as more than the bastard he'd met at twelve.

He ran his steel-and-wire hand over the absent spines of books and snorted bitterly.

Al may have faith in everyone at all times (who knew where _that_ had come from), but Ed knew better. You kept moving forward, but there were certain truths about _everyone_ that never changed. Winry would always hit him with her wrench when she was angry (even though she did it now with a look of wistfulness), and Al would always sigh over Ed's behaviour as if he could guilt Ed into changing, and Hawkeye would always get Mustang to do his work by pointing a gun at him, and Mustang would always find a way not to do it and call Ed short at the same time. It had _always_ been that way. Always.

So why the _fuck_ was it _changing_?!

His hand clenched, and he knew that if the books had still been in place the spines would be cracked and warped from the force of his grip; as it was, they were gone, and only the air was left to be twisted painfully between his fingers.

In the end, he knew the only recourse left to him. He'd known it from the moment he'd left (read: fled) the office in a panicked certainty that he'd gone insane.

Mustang must have done something to him alchemically in revenge for the Shamballa fuck-up. He had a history of revenge over the past six years; once, Ed had gone back to his apartment only to find all of his furniture transmuted to twice its size in a twisted realisation of how short Mustang seemed to think him. He'd never been able to _prove_ it was the bastard, but the smaller-than-usual smirk he wore whenever it was brought up was evidence enough for Ed.

So if Mustang had used alchemy on him, he had to research. And as he was unlikely to find it in the library (he had certainly spent enough time pouring over the books there to have an idea of almost every tome's contents), that meant he'd have to research Mustang himself in hopes that the man would drop a clue.

'Brother?' Al asked, coming into the room with groceries (courtesy of Ed's books). 'What are you planning?'

'What?' Ed asked, turning around. Al's eyes sparked amusement as he bustled into the kitchenette.

'You were laughing manically again, Brother. If you don't want people to be suspicious, you shouldn't laugh so.' Al set the groceries down on the table and turned, as if to go get more; he paused, however, and studied Ed. It got to the point where Ed was squirming hard enough to fall out of his skin when Al finally sighed and shook his head.

'It's about the Colonel, isn't it?' He said aloud and then, before Ed could begin the spasmodic protesting that that statement was due, he corrected himself with a, 'Well, I suppose he's a Brigadier General, since his promotion last month... It really _is_ hard to shake that habit, though...'

'It is _not_ about _Mustang_!' Ed flailed, but Al only rolled his eyes.

'You have two kinds of maniacal laughter, Brother,' he said, and then went about retrieving the groceries. When he'd brought four more bags in, he added, 'One's for general mania, and then the second's reserved solely for the Colonel – er, General.' He looked at Ed thoughtfully. 'What'd he do _now_?'

'I already told you!' Ed accused, pointing his finger as Al gathered the last three bags and put them on the table as well. 'Right when I looked up, he – oh, wow, Al, is that what I think it is?' Ed tried to peer in the bags, certain he'd seen his favourite kind of crackers, but Al slapped him ( _heartlessly_ , Ed thought, wounded) away.

'You told me the General smiled at you.' Al looked at Ed thoughtfully again. 'He's done that before, you know.'

'No, he hasn't,' Ed said, taking a seat at the table and pawing through the bags when Al wasn't looking. 'He smirks. Never smiles. Why'd you buy milk?'

'I'm going to make a cake,' Al said, rolling his eyes and taking the small container of milk from Ed's willing hands. 'And don't complain about it – you love my cakes.'

'I love Gracia's more,' Ed said, and for a moment they were equally lost in thoughts of stacked, fluffy cakes. Ed shook away the thought of Gracia's lemon cake with whipped vanilla icing long enough to add, 'And she makes them without milk.'

'No, she doesn't,' Al said, shaking it away as well. 'She just adds it when you're not looking.'

'Liar!'

'I'm not lying! S'truth!'

'Aaugh! How _could_ she!'

A few minutes later, Ed's mini-breakdown was interrupted with a hand on his shoulder, and he looked up to see Al biting his lip.

'You're not going to do something that could get you hurt... are you, Brother?'

Ed stared at him, perplexed. 'How could I get hurt?' he asked, and Al looked away.

'Oh, the General could charcoal you,' he said, flapping his hand after he took it from Ed's shoulder, 'Or he could send you up to the North in retaliation, or you could –'

Al continued listing various ways Ed could reach grievous injury and misfortune at Mustang's hands, but Ed wasn't really listening; he had just realised that Al was avoiding looking him full in the face. Whatever he thought Mustang was going to do to Ed, he didn't like it. And it made him nervous.

Which only pissed Ed off more – what right did Mustang have to make his little brother (who was still taller than him, even though Ed had grown) nervous or worried?! Prick.

Watching Al bustle around the kitchen, starting dinner, he swore to find out what Mustang had done to him. Because Al shouldn't have to deal with worry, not since he'd been returned to his body.

.....

Now if he could only find the _time_ to do that.

He all but groaned into the book before him; he _hated_ this time of year. _Hated_ it. So much so that if he could he would just snip it out of his calender and pretend it didn't exist. But the assessments were unavoidable if he wanted to keep a reasonable salary and have access to tomes he didn't otherwise have access to. And since the populace had decided he was an angel on earth (which was about all he remembered about the mainstream religion these days – somethin' about angels and one god), he didn't have to deal with the dislike and occasionally outright hatred that normally came with his job.

Surely that was worth two weeks of his year? The one before his assessment spent scrambling for something impressive to bring up, and the one after spent angsting after his scores (which were always perfect, anyway)?

He dropped his head onto the open book, and took a moment to luxuriate in the feel of paper on skin. It had been a long while since he could just sit down and read, even if it was on boring topics like botanical alchemy. Work kept him too busy for that; if it wasn't for the fact that he had to cram right now, he might even enjoy it.

He pushed the book away. He'd done something botanical in nature last year, when he'd transmuted a tree that grew in iron rich soil (common in the northwest) and had a resiliency on par with steel for cheap production. _That_ had earned him a nice bonus. But he hated not meeting or exceeding the previous year's performance, and it wasn't because he liked impressing the military. And by military, he meant _Brigadier General_ Mustang (he'd tried to bash his head in when he heard _that_ : Mustang would be insufferably smug thanks to his promotion, no doubt about it, and Ed had been proved right a week later).

No, what he liked was the challenge. He _liked_ proving himself _to_ himself, and he liked that he had to fight for it. The missions that were tossed his way these days were either something _destined_ to be a fuck up or so dull he wished it _was_. There was nothing to f–

'Fullmetal?'

Ed resisted the strong urge to try and choke himself with the book. No use for it. He stood and turned slowly.

Mustang actually looked _surprised_ to see him here, which was weird enough. It was a _library_. Ed was sure that Mustang believed he _lived_ in one, for blank's sake. What was so shocking about seeing him here?

Then there was the belated realisation that they had both just stood there in silence, staring at each other. What the hell was his –

Oh, right. He was waiting for Ed to say something.

'What do you want, Mustang?' Ed growled, trying his very best to not feel flustered. He'd done stupider stuff in front of Mustang than stare at him.

...Mustang still hadn't spoken, though. He was looking at Ed like he was one of those puzzles Falman always gave people for the secular holidays _–_ vexing and unnecessarily difficult.

'Well?' Ed snapped.

Mustang shook his head. 'I'm surprised to see you here, Fullmetal, that's all.'

'What's so weird about me being in a library?' Ed demanded.

'Touchy today, are we?' Mustang said, and set the books Ed hadn't noticed him carrying down on the table, across from Ed. 'I would have thought you would be ready for the assessment weeks ago, that's all.' He looked exasperated. 'I haven't had the time.'

Ed glared as Mustang sat down. 'Who said you could sit here?' Ed said, glaring around. There were at least four empty tables around them. 'I'm not going to get any work done with you hanging around –'

It dinged in his head with a sound not unlike a kitchen timer, the way his best ideas tended to do. He had no idea _why_ it sounded like a kitchen timer, as he couldn't cook worth shit, but... meh. Welcome to life, pick up your weird quirks and childhood emotional baggage at the door.

He sat down and pulled one of his books at him, studiously ignoring Mustang's confused look.

After a moment of silence, Mustang chanced a question. 'Weren't you just shouting at me for sitting?'

'Yes,' Ed said, trying to make the dry theory the author was explaining for the ninth time sound interesting in his head.

'And then you stopped.'

'Yes.'

Abruptly, a hand was pressed to his forehead, cool and dry. It felt strangely of... paper. No, not paper. Vellum.

Ed looked up, and his jaw all but dropped onto the book in front of him. Mustang was leaning across the table, with his _hand_ on Ed's _head_ , as if he did this all the time and it was normal.

Normal? _Normal_?

'What the hell are you playing at, Mustang?' Ed cried, jerking away. As if summoned by arcane means, a librarian who had worked there since he was twelve clocked him over the head, before disappearing silently as he came.

'No fever,' Mustang said, sitting down again. 'And you don't _look_ sick...' Mustang glared at him. 'When was the last time you ate? Or slept?'

'Not _this_ shit,' Ed groaned. 'Look, I ate this morning, I've only been here a few hours, and this is a lousy _assessment_. Do you think I'd work myself to death over a test the fucking military devised?' He glared at Mustang, who looked unperturbed.

'You've done it before.'

'Yeah, when I was _sixteen_!' Ed snapped, clenching his fists. 'Shit, don't I get a break? It's been eight years! Al won't let me forget it, either.' he picked up his book again. 'Look, you're already distracting me,' he snapped. 'Work, or get the fuck out.'

Mustang rolled his eyes, but surprisingly acquiesced, picking up his book and flipping to the table of contents. Ed buried his head in his own book, and thus began the mighty Mustang Research Project.

Ed kept the book at the perfect level to look like he was reading, even when he wasn't, and bent his head over it so that his bangs hid his eyes. From his perfect vantage point, he was in a good position to see that...

Was Mustang _incapable_ of focussing on the task at hand? His eyes kept flitting around as if looking for a distraction, and he didn't seem to give one fuck about the books at hand. And, weirdly enough, the books at hand weren't even about fire alchemy. Ed spotted two titles on reconstruction theory and at least three on various electric and water-based energy production, but there wasn't even a note on the flames Mustang was so famous for. Could Mustang even _do_ other alchemy?

Mustang sighed and looked at Ed piercingly. 'You should pay attention to when you start muttering,' he said, and Ed seriously considered the benefits of smashing his head through the table. 'And yes, I can do other alchemy. I'm working on a proposal for a self-sustaining flame, and these are texts that seemed best suited.'

'How much did you hear?' Ed asked sullenly, setting his book down.

'I heard that I have at least three books on electric and water-based energy, and your lovely suspicions on the state of my alchemical prowess.' Mustang tapped his fingers on the stack beside him. 'I actually have five, and only one is on electricity.'

Ed's eyebrow rose. 'And you need to know about water, _why_?'

Mustang's smile was unsettling, because it was exactly the same as the one at his office a week ago. A real, genuine smile, and there was no one else around to receive it but Ed. He barely resisted a check over his shoulder to make sure, and tried not to squirm under the burn of the smile. 'Tell me, Fullmetal,' Mustang said languidly, setting his right elbow on the table and placing his chin in his hand. 'What is the composition of water?'

'Hydrogen and oxygen,' Ed replied immediately and dismissively. 'Both of which are flammable, I know, I know – but that knowledge doesn't do you much good, does it?' Ed held out a hand. 'Glove, now.'

'No please?' Mustang asked, passing one over as his smile became faint, washed out by curiosity.

'Never for you, bastard,' Ed replied, already busy studying the array. A few seconds was all it took, however, and he looked up with a self-righteous grin. 'I knew it. Your ar...'

He was brought up short by the way Mustang was looking at him, because if he wasn't mistaken, there was a look of fondness there – the kind you'd have for an old friend, the kind he himself felt whenever he saw Winry or the Tringhams (though both of those were swirled in with unease and irritation, respectively). It was gone in an instant, but the tone of Mustang's voice as he said, 'Yes, Fullmetal?' said that he knew Ed had seen it, and was unhappy about that. Good. Served the bastard right, because whatever alchemy he'd used on Ed last week had just got stronger.

'Um – your array is only designed to deal with hydrogen and... and oxygen when they're individual – individual molecules, and,' Ed said, mentally flailing to get back to what he'd been saying, 'And you can't break them apart without _this_ modification –' He scrawled the necessary changes down on a spare piece of paper, and looked up to hand it to Mustang.

If the smile had been burning, then this was like looking into the the face of the sun, where the brightness was enough to sear your bones to ash. Ed wasn't even aware that he'd dropped the paper in surprise until Mustang picked it up, so great was the shock of seeing that much open admiration on _anyone's_ face, much less _Mustang's_.

'Do you have any idea how long I've been trying to figure that modification out?' Mustang said, studying the paper, and if possible, he grew brighter.

Ed stood abruptly, and all he could remember of that moment later was that the words he had spoken to Rosé so many years ago were running through his head like a train at full steam.

' _It's like that myth about the hero... he made wings out of wax so he could fly... but when he got too close to the sun... the wax melted and he crashed to the ground._ '

'Fullmetal?'

'I've –' Ed looked away as he turned, leaving his books on the table, 'I've got to go. Good luck, or whatever.' He almost forgot to add, 'You'll need it,' before he bolted in the direction of the exit.

He could almost _feel_ the surprise from behind him, and that's when he knew it wasn't alchemy Mustang had used. Alchemy couldn't affect emotions – not yet, and Mustang would have been too smug about such a momentous discovery that he wouldn't use it for something so simple as revenge. That meant that something Ed had believed in for almost his entire life was _wrong_. Naturally, Roy Mustang...

Knew magic. That _fucker_.

.....

'The General does _not_ know magic, Brother.'

Ed flailed over the spaghetti dinner Al had prepared. 'You weren't there, Al!' he protested. 'You weren't! You didn't see the way he looked, or what he was doing! It was all suspicious!'

'All I'm suspicious of is _you_ ,' Al said, and took a bite. When he'd swallowed, he looked at Ed as if he could see into his soul. Knowing that it was Al, he probably could. 'It sounds like you two are becoming friends. Would that be so terrible?'

' _Friends_?!' Ed spluttered, shocked. 'Al, are you insane? This is _Mustang_ we're talking about. I'm not even sure if both of our names and the word “friend” in a sentence together is grammatically correct.'

'You should watch what you say, Brother,' Al pointed out, swirling more spaghetti onto his fork. 'If the sentence “Edward and the General are friends” is grammatically incorrect, then the sentence “Edward and the General aren't friends” is grammatically incorrect as well.'

He took his bite as Ed spluttered again, trying (and failing) to come up with a reasonably witty response. Eventually, he had to settle on, 'Those English classes are doing you some good,' much to his chagrin.

'Oh, I don't know about that,' Al said cheerfully. 'That was less book-smarts than common sense. You don't have a lot of that.' He started scraping the sides of his bowl for stray traces of tomato sauce, then looked pointedly at Ed's still half-full bowl. 'I actually finished before you? Are you going to eat that?'

'Yes, I am!' Ed said, and started shovelling it in his mouth to save himself the torture of trying to parry Al's increasingly deft verbal jabs.

Roy Mustang _did_ know magic, Ed was certain of it. He'd never believed in magic, but maybe Mustang was diabolical enough to make it work. Ed knew this, not because he'd seen Mustang perform the magic, but because the explanation that they were becoming friends was more ludicrous. Other people might not see it that way, but as one participant in the two-way hate street that he and Mustang occupied, Ed figured he got to call the shots, and fuck other people's opinions.

It had been bugging him for days, and he'd been so distracted at his assessment yesterday that he'd been asked to start over. He'd managed to get through (it had been a theory of pressuring rocks to create various gems, and was being considered as a last-ditch defence if they got into a war again and needed funds). The idea was novel enough to get the score he was accustomed to, but he'd been out of it. More of Mustang's revenge, he supposed, as Mustang's was after his.

Mustang was infuriatingly focussed during his own assessment, which Ed watched because no one was kicking him out and it was starting to drizzle in the arena. Turns out, that was the perfect weather for what Mustang was trying to do; there were some muffled snickers from the stands when he raised his gloved hand, but Ed had sat forward, seeing the faint difference in the man's gloves. He could have sworn Mustang's eyes flicked to him before he snapped, but then Ed wouldn't have noticed if the man had walked over to him, because...

Well, when the rain blooms into hyacinths of fire, _anyone's_ breath would be taken away, and from the loud gasps that rang around the assessment arena, many people's had. Ed didn't have a gasp to give; he'd been holding his breath before Mustang snapped, and now he could only release it in an exasperated sigh. But it _was_ beautiful, the way the rain just created chain reactions of flame, and the way Mustang had controlled it effortlessly. The latter was admitted grudgingly on Ed's part, but the former was given whole-heartedly; Ed had never hesitated giving credit where it was due.

He also didn't hesitate to leave before Mustang could tease him about his own assessment, had he been watching, and trudged home in the rain through a downpour that seemed to try and flatten him to the ground – only to disappear suddenly when he caught sight of home.

It was _clearly_ Mustang's fault, and Al's opinion be _damned_ , he was not Mustang's friend. He'd leave that to the team.

He finished his spaghetti and put the bowl in the sink, rinsing it out under Al's ominous gaze. Then he went to go stew in the living room, and occasionally mourn the list of books that he would never see a –

He fell onto the couch rather harder than he'd meant to when he noticed that the shelves were _full_.

' _AL!!_ '

'What is it, Brother – Oh, right! I didn't tell you!' Al all but skipped into the room. 'I found them in a box outside our apartment this morning, and shelved them for you!'

Ed was already up and examining the spines lovingly; there was no doubt about it. Every title was accounted for, every leather spine present, and Ed could have sang, he was so happy.

'How did this happen?' he asked, whirling around and knowing that his eyes would be shining.

'I don't know,' Al admitted. 'There wasn't a note. Oh, right, I forgot! There was an extra book.'

'An _extra_ book?' Ed squeaked, well aware that he sounded four again and getting an early birthday present. He spun in place and found the new tome at the end of the shelf, and almost squealed like a little girl.

'It's _Elemental Alchemy_ by Sartorius Benedict!' he said, spinning _again_ to show Al, who looked heavily amused. 'This has been out of print for forty years! You know I could never find another copy after we burnt the house down!'

'I know,' Al said, smiling. 'But who knew to get it for you? And where did they get it?'

'Does it matter?' Ed smiled, and placed the book lovingly back in its place. All thoughts of Mustang were wiped away by the sheer joy of having his books back.

He felt like he could fly.

.....

And, of course, it was Mustang who smashed him back into the ground.

'I have to go see the bastard _today_?' He groaned, staring at the summons in his hands. In two hours, no less, so he didn't even have enough time to mentally prepare himself to withstand the man's snide comments _and_ whatever magic he decided to fling at him.

Al was glaring at him over the table, though, and he _had_ just made waffles without milk that were damn good, Ed had to admit.

'Fine, I'll go, I'll go...' Ed sighed. 'But I'll be cursed again.'

'The General does _not_ know magic, Brother,' Al snapped, and jabbed his fork in his direction. 'I don't know why you're choosing to believe _that_ , of all things, but it's ridiculous and you _know_ it.'

Ed glared murder down at the dregs of maple syrup on his plate. Al just didn't understand. Ed didn't want to believe it, either, but what other option made more sense? That's right, _none of them_.

He stood and went to get his jacket where it lay in front of the space heater, drying out from the assessment storm two days ago. He slung it over his shoulders and, after a moment of deliberation, he drew _Elemental Alchemy_ from its place on the shelf.

'Are you going _now_?' Al asked, sounding bewildered.

'Yeah, of course!' Ed said, turning. 'Gives me time to set up an ambush, if I'm lucky, and if not, I might be able to catch him off-guard.'

'You two have the weirdest friendship I've ever seen.'

'We are _NOT_ friends!'

Ed found himself tossed outside the apartment with a loud thump and the slam of the door, through which he could distinctly hear Al saying, 'And don't come back until you can say you two are friends with a straight face!'

Ed picked himself up and dusted himself off, checked to see if any of the pages were ripped or bent (they weren't), and set off.

Outside, the air was comfortably cool; he was glad of the jacket soon, however, as a steady wind picked up and threatened to drop the temperature. Typical weather for September, but not particularly enjoyable.

He didn't live far from Command, because the college Al had chosen was in its immediate vicinity, and he reached the tall, white steps in twenty minutes. He stared up, and thought that _maybe_ his departure had been a bit premature; what was he going to do now? He didn't _actually_ want to see Mustang this early in the morning.

Well, all things considered, he was probably here _before_ the lazy bastard, so he entered the building before he was caught outside. Then, it was a matter of a few minutes' walking and he was at the office.

Havoc looked up, surprised, when he opened the door, and Ed had to make gratuitous _shushing_ motions so that he didn't call out a greeting. Just in case Mustang actually _was_ here.

'What are you doing here so early, boss?' Havoc asked in an undertone, smiling. He and Hawkeye were the only ones in the office at the moment; Ed could breathe easy, he'd made it here before Mustang. And most of the team.

'Got kicked out of my apartment by Al, who wants to study,' he said dismissively, picking a good excuse from a mental hat. Havoc nodded, and Ed added, 'Figured I'd come early and read while it's still quiet.'

'Got it, boss,' Havoc grinned, and Ed took a seat before opening _Elemental Alchemy_.

He ran his fingers over the familiar pages, and his eyes over the familiar sentences; it had been so long, but still, when he closed his eyes, he could read the words.

The only difference now was that his hands were longer, one of them steel, and they traced each letter with something like worship instead of impatient desperation.

The others slowly trickled into the office; Falman, then Breda and Fuery, arguing about a new restaurant down the street. Each of them gave him a friendly greeting. He raised a hand in response, but he was too enraptured with the book.

It filled his mind, faint tendrils of black ink and fire, the theories reawakening themselves in his mind and sparking more idea as they went, lighting long-dormant centres of his brain. It had been so long since he'd had an actual stimulus, something that _burned_ and set fire to other ideas.

'You're here early.'

'So what?' Ed snapped thoughtlessly, and looked up.

Mustang was watching him curiously, smiling in a faint way that Ed did _not_ like. 'I'm just surprised, that's all.' His smile grew, and Ed was suddenly aware of the quiet and the stares from the team. Mustang seemed oblivious. 'Normally you drag your heels and refuse to come in less than an hour late.'

'You clearly do the same thing,' Ed snarled, closing his book with a decisive snap. 'What time is it? Nine? Ten? Aren't you supposed to be here two hours ago?'

'He has an excellent point, sir,' Hawkeye said dangerously, but Mustang looked unruffled.

'I had a doctor's appointment,' Mustang said, and smirked in Hawkeye's direction. 'It's written in the schedule.' He looked to Ed again, and Ed noticed this time how the smirk changed into a smile. 'You're still early.'

'Al kicked me out of the apartment so he could study,' Ed lied again, and Mustang's eyebrow rose. As if he could tell Ed was lying. Which he couldn't – Ed _knew_ he couldn't – but it was unnerving, all the same.

'Well, you're here now,' he sighed, as if exasperated at Ed. Ed didn't know why; it wasn't like he'd missed something that Mustang was trying to impart silently. 'Go into my office, and wait. I have to pick up a piece of paperwork from someone.'

Ed knew better than to ask, so he stood with a huff and stalked into the office. The couch beckoned and he obliged, sitting a bit less violently than he had when he was last in here. He tried to lose himself in the book again, but something was keeping his memories at bay, and he set it down again with a sigh before glaring at the door. This was all Mustang's fault. He _knew_ it.

Mustang, predictably, opened the door at that moment, and _there_ went his eyebrow. 'Is something wrong, Fullmetal?'

'Nothing,' Ed snapped, and flushed when Mustang gave him a sharp look. 'Nothing, alright?'

'Does that nothing have to do with the book beside you?' Mustang asked, setting a small stack of papers on his desk.

Maybe he couldn't lose himself in the book at the moment, but he could certainly bring back the happiness of last night. 'No, it has nothing to do with the book,' Ed said, and picked it up again. He smiled fondly at the cover, and couldn't find enough irritation in him to snap when Mustang pulled up one of the cushy chairs in the office, instead of sitting at his desk like a normal person. 'It's _Elemental Alchemy_ by Sartorius Benedict.'

He looked over to see Mustang eyeing the book with interest. 'The one that you've been looking for since you left your home?'

Electricity seemed to flood Ed's body, and he sat up straight as the realisation hit him. It _couldn't_ be true. It just _couldn't_. 'You – you...?'

'I what?' Mustang said, looking faintly puzzled, but there was a smile on his mouth that Ed didn't like the twist of.

'You gave me my books back?!' Ed demanded, and he chose to ignore the way his voice cracked. What was going _on_?

Mustang's eyebrow rose. 'What makes you say that?'

'You're the only one other than Al who knew I'd sold them! And the only other one who _also_ knew that I'd been looking for this book!' Ed said, glaring. _No, it_ has _to be true._ He picked the book up up and shook it. 'Why did you do that?'

'I'm certain I don't know what you're talking about, but I'm sure you had a friend who cared enough about your happiness to return them,' Mustang said, and all Ed could do was glare. Mustang was clearly in one of those moods where he wouldn't give a straight answer if the _Fuhrer_ demanded one. Ed sat back with a huff, setting the book down again before returning to glaring at Mustang. Mustang, predictably ( _the only time he has been for the past couple days_ ), just smiled.

Ed huffed. 'Why am I here?'

'Two reasons,' Mustang said implacably, standing again and retrieving two folders from the stack on his desk. 'First, your scores from the assessment came in early, so I thought I would give them to you personally instead of making you wait two more days for the letters to travel the twenty minutes to your apartment.' Mustang smiled again. 'And second, your next mission has come in.'

Ed groaned. 'How'd I know you were going to say that?' he sighed, then held out his hand. 'Where am I going?'

'Oh, it's a local mission, so you don't have to go anywhere. In fact, I'd be shocked if it took you more than a week to finish.' He handed Ed one of the folders. 'It's just array analysis.'

'You know the only reason it's going to take me a week is because you demand I write up a report, with sources to back me up?' Ed asked, already flicking through the arrays present in the folder. There were fifteen or so, and each one was different from the last. They were advanced enough to make Ed curious, but simple enough that he knew he had a week of drudgery ahead of him.

'Your analysis should be sufficient enough as a source,' Mustang said, shrugging. 'Seeing as these are going to be used in the military academy as examples of offensive arrays, you seemed the logical choice.'

'You're using me to help the idiots over at the academy?' Ed asked, staring at Mustang. His irritation was burned away by confusion. 'I thought you hated them!'

Mustang winced. 'Hate is, as always, a rather strong term. I'd prefer for the cadets to get real-time battle experience, but that's out of the question.' He shrugged again. 'It should be easy for you.'

'I'll have it done in four days,' Ed said, flashing his teeth in what he knew was a feral grin. Mustang took it in stride, and merely smiled blandly back. 'And my scores?'

'Ah, right,' Mustang said, and handed him the other folder. He watched as Ed tore open the folder and started to read. 'They were slightly lower than usual. Any reason why?'

Ed flushed, and stared down at the paper. He'd be damned if he'd say he was distracted by Mustang – or rather, the magic Mustang was using to clandestinely fuck with his life. He didn't want to let Mustang know that he knew about it so early; he wanted time to build a defence, and then he'd _annihilate_ whatever-the-fuck Mustang was doing. So, he'd go with a partial truth.

'I was distracted,' he said defensively, and avoided Mustang's gaze. 'I got it done, which is all that matters in the end.'

'I suppose,' Mustang shrugged, and the office was quiet a moment as he turned in his seat and looked out the window.

'I – I saw your assessment,' Ed said, and Mustang's eyes flicked to him, an odd light obfuscated by the dark colour of the irises. 'I was surprised.'

'Why should you be?' Mustang asked, turning back. 'You're the one who supplied me with the basic modification, after all. I merely built on it.'

'But I didn't think you'd be able to –' Ed started, then stopped, before trying again. 'I mean, it was –' Dammit. No dice. And now Mustang was staring at him, and that almost pissed Ed off as much as not being able to find the right words. 'Look,' he snapped, 'I'm trying to pay you a compliment, bastard. The least you could do is take it gracefully.'

Mustang looked thunderstruck. 'You're... _complimenting_ me?'

'What of it?' Ed snarled, but he was turning red again, and he looked off to his right. It wouldn't hide it at all, but at least he didn't have to see Mustang's face.

'And _why_ are you trying to do that?'

Ed huffed and turned back, focussing on Mustang's collar so that he didn't have to look him in the eye. 'Because it was beautiful, alright?' Ed snapped, embarrassed by his own choice of words. 'It was – a chain of fire, and all from the rain, and it was just – oh, whatever.' Ed looked away again. 'Not that it even matters, I'm sure you got compliments left and right after that –'

'But not from you,' Mustang said, and Ed looked back, only to press himself back into the couch because Mustang was unnervingly close. 'That's high praise.'

'Just drop it,' Ed tried to snarl, but there was something wrong with his voice, because it wouldn't reach the volume he knew would make Mustang step back and stop crowding him. 'Really, Mustang, this teaches me to try and be nice to you. Can you back off, please?' There, he'd even said it politely, dammit.

'No,' Mustang said bluntly. 'I don't think I can.' And then Ed was pressed back into the couch, and something wonderful was happening to his mouth, and Mustang's eyes were closer than Ed could ever remember them being.

...What the _fuck_?

He shoved Mustang, hard, and the man fell back into his chair. Ed's mouth ached – almost as if the top layer of his skin had been torn off, leaving his lips raw and smarting. 'What the _hell_ was _that_?' he demanded, shocked.

'I knew you had little experience in this area,' Mustang drawled, clearly amused, 'but not that you were completely inexperienced. That, Fullmetal, was a kiss.'

'I know _what_ it was, you bastard!' Ed snarled. 'I meant _why_!'

'Then you should have said so,' Mustang said, eyebrow arched.

'You _asshole_ , I can't believe you just did that!' Ed stood and retreated from Mustang, pressing his back to the wall so that he wouldn't be subject to sneak attacks from behind. 'Do you have _any_ idea how many lines you just crossed?' Mustang stood. 'Or how creepy it is that you did that?' He walked closer. 'Or even that I m-might not b-be interested?!' Mustang towered over him.

'I did. I considered all of them.' Mustang's eyebrow rose. 'I knew the risks, and I took them.' He bent closer, and the _strangeness_ of it all, nothing else, made Ed's breath stutter to a halt. 'I might not have, had you not complimented me. That was something I never expected from you.'

'Oh, so now it's _my_ fault?' Ed demanded, temper flaring, but froze when Mustang's hands settled on the wall above his shoulders.

'At least half of it is,' Mustang said fairly, and kissed him again.

Ed _didn't_ like it. He didn't. It had to be whatever magic Mustang was using that made his mouth tingle and open, and made Mustang's tongue taste weirdly right when it touched his, and made his own tongue respond without his consent. He couldn't even bite down the way he wanted to. Eventually, he managed to work his arms up and shove Mustang away a second time.

Mustang stepped obligingly away, and suddenly Ed's mouth felt empty. He shoved that sensation ruthlessly aside and glared spectacularly. 'I don't know what you're doing to me,' he snarled, 'But you can stop any time.'

Outside, the sounds of office life continued strong as ever, and Ed abruptly realised how close they had come to being discovered. Mustang seemed not to care, because he only gained a confused look. 'What?'

'I know you're using – something – to do this to me,' Ed snapped. 'I don't know how, but I know why: revenge. Don't you think _this_ , though,' he said, pointing at his mouth, 'is a bit far?'

'I don't know what you're talking about,' Mustang said, sounding and looking bewildered, which only confirmed to Ed that he was lying. 'Revenge?'

'For the Shamballa fuck up,' Ed snapped. 'Don't pretend you don't know, it's not a good look on you.' He stalked around Mustang and gathered up the folders, refusing to look at Mustang. 'And if you try to – _kiss_ – me again,' he said, snarling in an undertone, 'I'll transmute you into something that will never get a date again.'

Now Mustang looked flabbergasted, as if every word out of Ed's mouth was the most insane thing he'd ever heard. Ed would give him points for acting, and _maybe_ some points for being a good kisser, but he'd just lost so many points for that – that _thing_ that he looked never to make up the difference.

'I'll have the report done when I come back,' Ed said with a final dismissive flourish and slammed out of the office, giving the team heart-attacks.

.....

'He _what_?'

'I told you, Al, it was magic, or something like it,' Ed snapped. This conversation wasn't going as well as he'd like it to; he'd wrestled for two days with the idea of telling Al, and this was what he got. 'I –'

'Oh, stop it with the magic talk,' Al said, looking as if he would dearly love to throw the textbook he was holding at Ed's head. 'I mean, he _kissed_ you? Twice?'

'Yes, he did, but focus on the important thing!' Ed snapped. He had been upset when he realised that he'd left his new book at Mustang's office, and his irritation only grew when he studied the arrays he was supposed to work on. _Elemental Alchemy_ would have been a massive help, and he was left to work with memories and the residual knowledge of the Gate to classify all the possible uses of each array. The knowledge of the Gate was really useful for coming up with on-the-fly solutions, but for studying? He might as well not have it.

'I _am_ focussing on the important thing, Brother!' Al said, sounding monumentally frustrated. 'Do you know what he _risked_?' Ed looked up, confused.

'You mean, by kissing me?'

'Yes, Brother!'

'Other than his balls,' Ed shrugged, 'not much. And he's damn lucky I chose to let him keep those.'

'More than that, Brother,' Al sighed. 'He risked the Fuhrership.'

Ed spun in his seat, shocked. ' _What_?!'

'Yes, he did,' Al said. 'Fraternisation – an inappropriate interaction between a subordinate and a superior –' he explained at Ed's blank look, 'is a big deal in the military. More powerful men than the General have been court-martialled and discharged for less than what he just did.'

Ed stared at Al, and shook his head slowly. 'It can't be as bad as all that, Al,' he said, thinking as he spoke. 'I mean, Mustang's had that ambition since the Ishballan rebellion. He wouldn't risk that for – for _hormones_ , or something,' Ed finished, blushing fiercely. He hated his complexion, sometimes; it made him act like such a little girl. 'Anyway, isn't he a little old for hormones?'

'I don't think it's hormones, Brother,' Al said, staring down at his textbook. 'The General's not like that. I mean, he used to go out on dates a lot when he was younger, but he's mellowed out a lot. And he _definitely_ wouldn't just risk the Fuhrership for hormones.'

'Which means he's doing it for revenge!' Ed said, appalled that Al was understanding this. 'It's the magic, like I said – _OW_!'

Someone knocked on the door, and Ed stood, rubbing the prominent bump on his forehead from Al's textbook. 'Coming!' he shouted, and glared at Al. 'Watch it be the landlord again,' he sighed.

'Oh, I don't think so,' Al said, looking distracted. 'I asked a friend to drop off some paperwork I didn't get from a class a couple days ago.'

'Fine, I'll grab it for you,' Ed said, and walked over to the hallway. He turned and opened the front door.

'Oh. It's _you_.'

'You sound so happy to see me,' Mustang drawled. His jacket was wet, and Ed realised it must be raining. 'I just wanted to return your book.' He held out _Elemental Alchemy_ , and Ed took it, placing it on a table beside the hall. He turned back, and Mustang was on the verge of turning and leaving.

'Wait!' Ed said, and Mustang turned back, eyebrow raised. 'I need to talk to you,' he said, Al's words burbling in his ears. To his surprise, Mustang winced.

'It's alright, Fullmetal,' He said in a weary voice. 'I'll apologise however you like, but –'

'No, that's not it,' Ed interrupted, then paused. 'Well, an apology would be appreciated, but that's not what I meant.'

Turning, he grabbed a jacket, hollered 'I'll be right back, Al!' and stepped out into the hall. 'Come with me,' he said, and Mustang followed, looking bewildered as Ed started climbing some steps.

'Fullmetal, I _do_ need to be getting home at some point –'

'It won't take long,' Ed said, and glared over his shoulder. 'Unless you're scared?'

Mustang scowled and followed Ed up two more flights of stairs, out onto the roof of the apartment building. It was indeed raining, meaning that the normal crowd of people who smoked and chatted were absent. Ed turned, and Mustang leaned against the wall beside the roof access door.

'What is this about, Fullmetal?' he asked, brow raised and collar turned up.

Ed stuffed his hands in his pockets. 'Why did you do that?'

'Return your book?' Mustang asked, still confused from the sound of it. 'Because I could see it was important to you, and I knew you might need it for the arrays.'

'No, I mean the – the _thing_ , two days ago,' Ed asked, and he was almost certain that the rain on his cheeks would start to steam, if he blushed any harder.

'You mean the kiss,' Mustang sighed, and placed his own hands in his pockets. He looked out past Ed, and his eyes seemed out of focus before he spoke again. 'I _am_ sorry for that. I don't know what came over me.' He looked at Ed, and his eyes were sharp with speculation. 'I never meant to let you know about that particular emotion of mine, frankly. You just...' he shook his head, smiling ruefully. 'Caught me off guard.'

Ed coughed and hid his face behind his fringe, as that had been his purpose in showing up that early (of course, he had been going for a different outcome, but it was still unnerving to hear his own intentions echoed from Mustang). 'Just because you never meant to tell me,' he said slowly, 'doesn't mean that it wasn't there.'

Mustang shrugged, and the water sheeted off of his shoulders. It was really starting to downpour. 'No, I suppose not.'

'Why?'

'Because I felt that –'

'No, I don't want to hear your reasons for the _thing_ ,' Ed snapped, mortified. 'Why did you do it if it was risking fraternisation?'

Mustang froze, staring at Ed as if he was a wild animal caught in the beam of a flash-light. 'Who told you about that?' He demanded after a moment, voice clipped and forcedly polite.

'Al told me,' Ed said, and Mustang, if possible, looked more startled.

'You told him.'

'I tell him everything!'

'You realise that makes me a dead man walking.'

'No more than you deserve,' Ed snapped, but took pity on the older man, who looked like Ed had just slapped him across the face with his automail hand. 'He seemed more shocked than anything.' He looked up at the sky, and had to close his eyes to protect them from the rain. 'That you would risk that much, I mean.' He looked back, and almost took a step back from the hungry look in Mustang's eyes that was quickly hidden again. 'Why would you?'

Mustang merely shrugged. 'I knew you wouldn't tell anyone who would put paid to my ambitions,' he said, then turned. 'Is that all?'

'Like fuck that's all!' Ed snarled. 'Why don't you stop whatever you're doing to me so I can focus on my job, huh?'

'What do you think I'm doing to you?' Mustang snapped, turning, and clearly angry for the first time since Ed had come back from South-South East District. 'I was underneath the impression that you at least trusted me enough to not think that I'm manipulating you this way and that, as you did when you were a child.'

'If it was manipulation, I could ignore it!' Ed cried, glaring bloody murder. 'It's not natural, Mustang – I want to know if it's alchemy, or something else, so I can stop it! I can't focus anymore!'

'And that's _my_ fault?' Mustang growled, stalking closer and looking livid. 'What – do you think I can control you by _alchemy_ , now?'

It sounded ridiculous in Mustang's voice, and that only angered Ed further. 'I don't know, but you're driving me insane!' he said, throwing his hands up in the air.

'And you're not doing the same to _me_?' Mustang demanded. 'Do you think it's _easy_ to see you, day in and day out, and know that there are some things you can never have, no matter how badly you want it?'

'I _know_ it's not easy!' Ed snarled, snapping. 'What do you think it felt like to see Al in his armour?'

'But you _knew_ you could get him back!' Mustang said dismissively, waving a hand. Ed caught the wrist with his automail and squeezed until he could hear bones grating together. Mustang's face was hard, but his mouth was twisted in a moue of discomfort; served him _right_ , the _bastard_.

'I _never_ 'knew' that,' Ed snarled fiercely. ' _Never_ , you hear me? I had to fight for every step I took, and even when I was close I knew it could all be for nothing, because one of us could die, or it wouldn't work, and I'd have died for _nothing_. So don't think that you can even compare.'

' _You_ were the one making the comparison, Ed, not me,' Mustang growled, voice sharp with pain and fury, and Ed released his wrist out of shock – had he _really_ just said Ed's name? 'And you had hope. If you didn't, you would have given up.'

'You have it too, or you would have given up ages ago!' Ed snapped. The look Mustang gave him was both furious and pitying at the same time.

'I _did_ give up, Ed,' he said, his voice quiet and savage in a way Ed hadn't even known Mustang's voice could go. 'A long time ago. But then you ran from me when I smiled at you, and you didn't kick me out of the library. And you gave me a modification for my alchemy. Willingly, even.' Mustang's face was drawn down in a scowl. 'And you were acting so strangely, and – well, can you blame a man for dreaming?'

Ed flushed, and took a step back. 'I'm not that special,' he said, and gave glare for glare when Mustang looked at him. 'I'm _not_. I'm not worth a Fuhrership, and I don't _want_ to be.'

'I can't do anything about you wanting to be,' Mustang said, 'But I'd thank you to let me decide what you're worth to me.' He stood taller, and Ed realised that he had been leaning forward, and they had been all but shouting in each other's faces. 'The cracking point was the compliment. Maybe that would have been mundane for anyone else, but it was too much for me.' He looked at Ed, and the pitying look was back. 'I apologise for placing you in that position.'

He turned, and said without looking, 'Will that be all?'

'I still don't understand _why_ ,' Ed said, tilting his head back to look up at the sky again. 'I can't possibly be worth _that_ much. Not with our history.'

'Did you maybe think,' Mustang said, voice much closer and at the same time much quieter than before, 'that our history may be part of the reason why?'

Ed looked forward, shocked by the proximity of the voice, and realised he was too close. Much too close, but he didn't have time to move away, because Mustang's mouth was already on his, already warming him from the lips outward.

Ed wanted to say he hated it, because it was still Mustang and no matter what he said, there had to be magic of some kind happening to make something this improbable reality. But it felt so _good_ , Ed couldn't hate it; he couldn't hate the way Mustang's mouth was warm and wet, or the way it fit against his own, or the taste when Mustang firmly pressed his tongue against the seam of Ed's lips.

What was he supposed to do? He couldn't find it within him to shove him away, and he couldn't move back; it was like the soles of his shoes had melted onto the concrete surface of the roof and wouldn't let him do anything but sway forward, sway forward until Mustang caught him with hands that felt too much like cool vellum to contain the fire Ed knew was hiding in his fingers. And then it was like his shoes were unstuck, and he stumbled into Mustang's body, clutching the fabric of his jacket so that they didn't tumble onto the roof.

Mustang moved in such a way that Ed couldn't help but follow. The way his tongue twisted around Ed's drew Ed's tongue into the same patterns; his hands had moved under Ed's jacket and rasped over his shirt, forcing Ed to lift his arms over his shoulders; the abrupt drawing into his body made Ed press closer, and he couldn't resist a small sound when Mustang pressed their hips together and their erections rubbed obscenely.

Ed stumbled backwards with the force of his shock at that, out of Mustang's grip and onto the patina of water on the roof's surface. Where had _that_ unpleasant problem come from? He didn't – he _couldn't_ have –

Mustang looked mortified, almost more so than Ed. 'I'm – I'm sorry,' he said in a rush, looking anywhere but the man sprawled on the ground in front of him. 'I didn't – didn't mean to do that –' He looked at Ed briefly, but couldn't seem to hold his shocked gaze. 'I should go.'

He turned and fled – there was no other word for it. Ed watched, petrified, as Roy Mustang fled from _him_ , not the other way around, and he couldn't move for a long time after the door slammed shut.

He sighed, finally, and looked down at himself; he looked no closer to calming down, and with an embarrassed sound he stood and walked around the small structure that housed the roof access door, making sure he was alone before undoing his fly. He would be damned before he'd walk back into the apartment he shared with Al with a hard-on; Al would know exactly what had happened, and that was something he _could not face_.

He gave a muffled sound when he closed his left hand around himself, sliding to his knees, and stifled it by wadding his right sleeve in his mouth. The rain was coming down so hard that he couldn't see more than six feet in front of him, and could hear nothing but his own hasty breathing and the pounding of rain. He moved his hand, and almost cried out from the intensity of it.

What had Mustang _done_ to him? He'd never felt so ready in his life, but as he moved his hand and sucked in hasty breaths through his nose between cries that would have been loud but for his sleeve, it felt like it took forever to come and just be done with it. Each stroke felt like too much and at the same time not enough; whatever Mustang had done to him, he wanted more of, right now. He wanted Mustang's mouth and Mustang's tongue and Mustang's hands and Roy's –

He thought the name, and like a trigger, his hand tightened and he threw his head back and _came_ , shout muffled to no more than a soft moan by his sleeve.

He slumped backwards against the wall, and almost immediately was assailed with whatever self-hate he could muster at the moment.

He'd given in, and that was shameful enough; but to have jerked off to _Mustang_ was like a slap in the face. What had happened to the hate? Why had it all _changed_?

He tried to turn his head away from the buzzing questions, but the most important question refused to be silenced, even as he stood, did up his pants again, and started making his way to the door inside.

Why did Mustang running away _hurt_ so much?

.....

Al had been looking at him oddly for days, but Ed was too busy to answer his questions.

Okay, that wasn't true. Truth was, he was a total coward, and didn't want Al to know about this – this _thing_ between him and R– Mustang. He'd been fighting that for days, too – just because he'd thought Mustang's first name once didn't give him permission to use it all the time. Even if Mustang seemed to think he had permission to use Ed's instead of his title.

But in his defence, he really _was_ busy – both with the short mission he'd been assigned, and trying to figure out what this _thing_ really was.

It (likely) wasn't magic that was causing this, but Ed still wasn't sure. There was too much left unexplained, even if Mustang's bewildered responses to Ed's assertions that he was up to something _seemed_ genuine.

Like why Mustang had decided that _Ed_ , of all people, was the one he'd risk his future on. Frankly, Ed would have expected Hawkeye to fill that position; first of all, she was an attractive woman, and second of all, they had always seemed close. But if Mustang was earnest, then that was just camaraderie.

And then Ed had to consider his _own_ reactions to all of this, including his reaction after Mustang had fled on the roof.

Al was eyeing him again, and he made himself look busy with the report, which he'd finished yesterday but didn't want to bring into the office. How could he stand there and not remember the rain, or the way his mouth felt achingly empty whenever he thought of Mustang's kiss?

He sounded like such a _girl_. Even if he wasn't using magic, Mustang was still doing something to him, something that felt good and hurt by equal turns, something that made him wish he had asked Mustang to stay instead of letting him run away –

'He ran away from you? Wow, Brother. You must be a terrible kisser.'

Ed fell out of his chair and smashed his head off the desk; he didn't even notice, as he was too busy staring at Al. Who was clicking his tongue and shaking his head. Dammit.

'Who – who asked you?' Ed demanded, red-faced. 'I don't care if I _was_ muttering, you don't have to listen!'

'All I heard was that you sounded like a girl,' Al said, and helped Ed over to the couch, as his new head wound was making him dizzy. 'So, he kissed you again. You should really get that bump looked at, Brother. It looks like the same place I hit you with my text book.'

'I'm fine,' Ed said, and pushed Al away feebly. 'I'm just distracted.'

'Clearly,' Al said, and smiled. 'If you feel that way, maybe you should just tell him.'

'I don't even know what way I feel!' Ed said, watching as Al went to grab him some ice and a dish towel. 'He's too damn unpredictable!'

'I think he's fairly predictable,' Al said placatingly as he handed Ed the ice. 'At least, he seemed so when he stopped down after your conversation on the roof.'

'He _stopped_?' Ed said, shocked.

'He wanted to ask me something,' Al shrugged. 'Actually, he wanted to ask after you. When I asked why, he gave me a look and asked me if I thought you'd give him a straight answer.'

'Why does all the weird shit happen to me?!' Ed moaned.

'Because you're weird, Brother,' Al said, and set Ed back onto the couch when he tried to surge up to punch him and was too dizzy to find the couch again. 'I told him you'd been distracted and irritable lately, and that you seem to believe he's using some kind of magic on you –'

' _AARGH_! You _told_ him that?!'

Al looked at him like he was insane. 'Yes. Of course I did. He asked, after all.'

'And?' Ed demanded, dreading Al's answer.

'He laughed,' Al said simply, and Ed contemplated the finer points of choking himself to death on the stuffing of the couch cushions.

'For a minute,' Al amended, as if he could see the plan forming in Ed's mind. 'But then he just nodded, said something along the lines of “it figures”, and left.'

'Nothing else?' Ed asked, miserable.

'Well, he looked like he'd been running a marathon,' Al shrugged, and Ed's face lit up like a cherry bomb. 'What, Brother?'

'Nothing! Nothing at all!'

'Are you not telling me something?'

'No! Definitely not! I should go talk to him!'

'Brother! Watch out for the coffee tab–'

.....

All in all, it was another two days before he was deemed fit to travel by Nursemaid Al (he'd called Al that to his face once, and that was why it had taken two days instead of one). But now he had his report in hand, and he was facing the door to the office, and he wished he could just melt into the ground and disappear.

What was he _doing_ here? It was like he had been signed on for humiliation after humiliation, and he didn't get a choice one way or the other. How was that fair? He just wanted a nice, normal life, where he wasn't constantly fighting for every moment of peace he got (even if that statement was an oxymoron.)

He realised, as he reached for the door knob, that that statement wasn't even true. Hadn't he been bored for the past few years with the missions given to him, and hadn't he thought before his assessment, with Al in college and perfectly capable of caring for himself, he didn't have anything to _fight_ for anymore?

He opened the door, conflicted inside and out, as was apparent by the abrupt silence in the office when he stepped inside.

'You okay, boss?' Havoc asked, eyeing him as if Ed was about to be sick all over his uniform. 'No offence, sir, but you look like shit.'

Ed managed a half-hearted glare. 'Because you're a beauty queen,' he snapped, and Havoc shrugged.

'No, but I've dated one or two.'

'Both of whom were stolen by me,' an amused voice rumbled from behind, and Ed turned, startled, as Mustang walked in. 'Who's h–'

He looked like someone had just slapped him in the face with a bolt of lightning, and Ed had to fight to remain calm looking in front of the team, who were already looking curiously between the two.

'My report?' Ed said, desperate to divert their attention, and waved his folder.

Mustang nodded, still looking dazed, and swept past Ed into his office. Ed watched him go, and almost leapt out of his skin when Havoc leaned over and whispered, 'Wow, he looks worse than you. What's going on, do you think?'

'I have no clue,' Ed said, mouth fumbling around the lie, and followed Mustang's lead, shutting the door behind him as Mustang sat down at his desk. Ed could already hear that the office behind them was unnaturally quiet, and he rolled his eyes as he realised that they were trying to eavesdrop. He clapped his hands and pressed them to the walls.

'What are you doing, Fullmetal?' Mustang asked, and when Ed turned his eyes were narrowed suspiciously.

'Soundproofed the front wall,' Ed shrugged. 'So the team can't eavesdrop.'

'Ah,' Mustang said. Ed walked forward and placed the folder on Mustang's desk. His fingers were shaking.

Mustang's hand caught his wrist, and he sucked in a breath that was a little too audible for comfort; there was another small sound, of a breath that was held being released, and Mustang asked quietly, 'Are you alright, Ed?'

'Just fine,' Ed said, and added belatedly, 'Mustang.'

'Roy,' Mustang corrected, and when Ed looked at him, startled, Mustang only smiled. 'Call me by my name, please.'

'Okay,' Ed croaked, his throat suddenly dry, and managed to murmur, 'Roy.'

At that syllable, Roy's eyes closed, and Ed was struck dumb by his own memories of rain and cries muffled by sleeves.

'Why did you choose to believe in magic over me?' Roy asked, and Ed had to fight hard for words, because more than half of him was focussed on Roy's mouth, and the smooth heat of his hand locked on Ed's wrist. It wasn't supposed to go this way – he'd just wanted to drop off his report and go. That was all. But now...

'Because it made more sense at the time.' It was an uphill struggle with his mouth to form words, because for some reason all saliva had fled the immediate vicinity.

'At the time,' Roy repeated, and looked at Ed with an eyebrow raised. 'And now?'

'Now nothing makes sense,' Ed murmured, the only statement he felt he could believe at the moment. 'Because I thought you were one kind of a person, and now I don't know what kind of person you are at all. You changed.'

'No, Ed,' Roy said with another smile, and stood, before making his way around his desk. Ed held his ground, and Roy pressed him back into the desk without touching him, hands on the desk surface beside Ed's hips, breath warm and alive in his mouth. 'You changed enough to see what was already there.' He turned his head slightly, as if about to kiss him, and paused. 'Thank God,' he said, and before Ed could protest the deity-use, he was kissed.

It was everything Ed had wanted when Roy had left him on the roof, except better, because it was real and not some slap-dash fantasy that only held together long enough to reach the end of his orgasm. Roy didn't bother with any sort of holding back, like he had previously; no, now his tongue was in Ed's mouth, and Ed was clutching at his back and trying to touch him everywhere, because he didn't know when his mind was going to come back and remind him that this was a bad idea, bad bad bad bad bad –

Oh, there it was.

'Mustang –' Ed gasped, and pulled back enough for Roy to glare at him for the use of his last name. 'But – fraternisation –' Dammit. The return of his mind didn't mean the return of his words, clearly.

'You may have a point,' Roy said, and there was a hasty, gulping quality there that Ed liked, because _he'd_ put it there. That was a nice thought. Roy looked at him, then smiled – the same way he had all those times before, only now there was more, so much more, written in the brightness of his eyes and the tautness of his skin. 'How good are you at keeping secrets?'

Ed caught his breath as he thought it over, and he felt the force of his own grin long after Roy must have seen it. 'Pretty good,' Ed said, and arched his eyebrow. 'And you?'

'Oh, good enough,' Roy said, and there was a look now, to match the gulping quality in his voice – it was a look Ed had known intellectually people must wear when they felt like this, but had never expected to see directed at him. 'You said the wall is soundproofed?'

'But the door isn't locked,' Ed pointed out, 'And can easily be picked.'

Roy frowned, then nodded. 'Grab your jacket.'

'I'm wearing it,' Ed said breathlessly, hating that tone in his voice but knowing that Roy must like it the same way Ed liked the way _he_ sounded at the moment.

'Then come on.'

'What?' Ed blinked, and grabbed at Roy when he tried to walk over. 'Stop it. I am _not_ walking out there to be stared at by the team.'

'Yes you are,' Roy said, giving him an amused look. Ed snarled, stepped around him, and clapped his hand, setting it on the door. A large lock appeared, and he turned to see Roy staring at him blankly. 'Let's see them get through _that_ ,' he said smugly.

'Ed...' Roy said, then placed his hand over his eyes. 'I can't believe you sometimes.'

Ed arched an eyebrow. 'Do you want it or not?' he said, heart pounding, and when Roy looked at him sharply, he knew he had gotten the meaning.

'You aren't _serious_ , are you?' Roy asked, staring.

'I am,' Ed said, and smiled. His hard-on was whining in his pants, twitching like a compass needle, and it had apparently decided Roy Mustang was the far north. 'Prove me wrong. I dare you.'

'That's...' But Roy was already moving forward, and when he pulled Ed to him and kissed him, Ed's tongue was the one to breach the line of Roy's lips, not the other way around.

And that, Ed supposed hazily, was what convinced Roy, if nothing else would. Ed followed when Roy moved, and so had the pleasure of Roy crying out into his mouth in surprise when he tripped on the arm of the couch and tumbled back onto the leather seats. Ed landed atop him with a small ' _oof_ ' sound, and broke off the kiss.

'Not what you meant to do, was it?' Ed asked, smiling in a way he knew would look maniacal.

Roy rolled his eyes. 'Brat.'

'Should we really be doing this if you think of me that way?' Ed asked, and sat back as if to shimmy off. Roy grabbed his arms and tugged him back down, catching his mouth again and kissing him back into incoherence before responding.

'You clearly don't understand how I think of you,' Roy said conversationally, even as his hand skimmed down Ed's abdomen to hover with the lightest pressure above Ed's erection, making Ed convulse slightly.

'Clearly, whatever, are you going to fuck me or not?' Ed demanded without thinking. The only response he got was a mouth on his throat and a hand wrapped around him, but that was _plenty_. His hips arched without his permission, and Roy let him, tightening his hand at intervals, even as he bit at Ed's neck. Ed couldn't – oh, he _wanted_ –

'You're wearing far too many clothes,' he said hazily, managing to push Roy's hands away, as much as he hated himself for it. With his erection free and aching again, he had some clearer thoughts, and started to work on Roy's uniform, cursing the little fiddly buttons as he went. He knew he was muttering again, as Roy was laughing softly at him, but he was at least trying to undress Ed, so _that_ was alright.

Ed lifted his hips without thinking as Roy pulled his pants off, not caring, as he was still removing Roy's shirt; when Roy stopped moving altogether, though, Ed rolled his eyes. 'If you're done, help me undress you,' he snapped. No response. 'Do you have any idea how tiny some of these buttons are?' Nothing. 'Roy, either help me, or –'

He was pushed back against the arm of the couch, Roy's mouth locked onto his collar bone, and it was all he could do not to cry out as Roy's hands skimmed down. Abruptly, their clothes were gone – or, rather, it felt that way. Ed had been too focussed on Roy's mouth and trying to detach it from his throat so his could kiss it to really pay much attention. All he knew was that feeling of cool vellum was pressed against him, everywhere, and it was melting away to a sensation of flickering fire, too warm to bear.

And then... Roy pressed his finger in, and the sun was coming out inside Ed's chest, too bright to contain, and he was increasingly glad for the soundproofing, because the sun was taking up too much room to keep his cries inside.

Roy's mouth covered his, and he mouthed more than whispered, 'God, Ed, _please_ stop making those noises. I'll never make it.'

'It's your fault,' Ed gasped, trying to suck in air and focus on the sensation of fingers inside him at the same time. 'And I don't believe in God, either.' What was he even _saying_? Roy could say whatever he wanted, just as long as he kept going, because the fingers were sort of uncomfortable but it was _Roy_ , and Ed was starting to wonder if Roy could do _anything_ to him that didn't feel good.

'Just – please –' Roy muttered brokenly, rocking his hips against Ed's, and Ed _wanted_ it, so _badly_ –

'Fuck me,' Ed said, and with those words his convictions grew stronger. Roy stared at him, but even that wasn't enough to make him feel embarrassed; it was true, dammit, and if Roy didn't – 'Or get off me so I can give it a shot.'

'Oh, God,' Roy said, his skin rippling as he shivered, and removed his fingers. Ed mourned their loss so keenly that he almost said something, but then Roy was pressing him against the arm of the couch and and going _in_ with the weirdest sensation Ed had ever felt, and Ed was trying hard just not to make the noises that Roy had told him not to make. Which was probably the first time in a long time he'd actually listened to him. The thought didn't last long, though, in the moment.

Ed actually stretched out over the arm of the couch with the force of the sensation, so alien and unfamiliar and _good_ and oh, he didn't even know the words to describe it anymore beyond 'fucking fantastic', and even that was a bit wordy for his liking.

Roy groaned, a long, steady sound that burned in Ed's ears, and his hands held Ed's hips tight enough to leave bruises. That sounded like the right description, right there, Ed thought hazily. 'Ed?' he asked after a moment, holding so perfectly still that Ed knew it had to hurt.

'What part of 'fuck me' missed you?' Ed demanded, lifting his head and bracing his forearms against the arm of the couch. 'Are you just going to hold still?'

A sudden pressure in his midsection as he was dragged more fully onto Roy's lap, and a steady burn of his muscles, was almost enough to set him off. 'Warn me, would you?' he demanded when he had his breath back, but the look Roy was giving him was enough to wipe his irritation away.

Then Roy was moving _inside_ of Ed, not just outside, and Ed had to fight not to come at the sliding sensation, skin catching on skin, rougher than he'd thought it would be and better because of that.

It was only now that he realised how much he missed that – the fighting for something he wanted. He drowned the offending noises in Roy's mouth, and shuddered, and rose and fell at Roy's direction, and then he couldn't hold the sound in any longer and threw his head back, moaning.

There was a shock as warmth flooded his abdomen, a blooming sensation deep within, and Roy gave a cry that sounded almost like a whimper before he slumped forward, his stomach pressing against Ed's erection. Ed sucked in a deep breath, both at the pressure and the revelation that he had, apparently, made Roy come with the sound of his voice _alone_.

'I told you to keep those noises to yourself,' Roy muttered against Ed's skin, before he caught hold of Ed's erection in a sweat-slicked hand and Ed choked.

His hand felt so _different_ from how Ed had imagined, too warm and too wet and too _much_ to handle, and that combined with the angle and the strong sensation of a heavy weight on all of Ed's limbs to create a fire in his stomach that boiled out, blinding him and making him almost sob on the sharp, bitter air that stung the lining of his lungs as he came.

The first sensation he was aware of was a tongue on his neck, and he tried to push Roy off, to no avail.

'Thank you,' Roy said after a moment, and kissed his throat again, more gently than before.

'For what?' Ed asked, feeling like he should be giving a couple of 'thank you's himself. He managed to push them up to a sitting position, weirdly enjoying the sense of Roy still inside of him, and clapped his hands, cleaning the mess.

'That's useful,' Roy said, looking mildly impressed. Then he looked at Ed, and the impression disappeared into a look of fondness. 'For letting me try.'

'It was worth it to me, too,' Ed argued, and felt Roy leave him with a sense of loss. _Damn. He should have stayed._ 'I don't want this to end here.'

Roy paused in his gathering of their clothes. 'You don't.'

'You sound so shocked,' Ed said, rolling his eyes. 'Would I have done this if I didn't want it to last longer than a day?'

'I don't know, Ed,' Roy said, and handed him his clothes. 'I'm very much attracted to you, and it seems it's mutual –'

'Damn straight.'

'But I don't _know_ you very well,' he continued, giving Ed a gratified look as they started getting dressed again. 'And you don't know me very well either. I thought that would be enough to turn you away.'

'Nope,' Ed shrugged. 'You've just given me something to fight for.' he pulled on his pants, and looked over at Roy, who was staring at him, apparently not aware that his mouth was open. Ed zipped up his pants before turning and placing his hands on his hips. 'What?'

'That's just...' Roy shook his head. 'That's just what I thought, the first time I realised I was...' He shook his head again. 'I wanted you,' he amended, though Ed thought he had a fairly good idea of what words Roy had wanted to say.

'I haven't had anything for the past few years that I really had to fight for,' Ed said conversationally, pulling on his vest. 'And that was such a huge part of my life before that it's been... well, I've been unbalanced since then.' He shrugged. 'I should thank you for that.'

He pulled on his jacket and grinned; Roy was still only half dressed. 'That's what you get for wearing such a bulky uniform,' he said, and grinned harder at Roy's scowl. 'Now, are we going to do this properly, or are we just going to fuck each other randomly?'

'Properly?' Roy repeated, buttoning up his shirt.

'Dates, the like,' Ed said with a wave of the hand, though his cheeks were starting to burn.

'You would _want_ to?' Roy said, looking so lost that Ed took pity on him.

'Yes, I would,' he said graciously. He turned and removed the lock and the soundproofing with one clap, and said loudly, 'And that's the _last_ time I do so much work for you on such short notice, you _bastard_.' He grinned at Roy's confused look, considered winking, did it, and swept out of the office. It was nice to know that he could have that effect on him – complete bewilderment seemed to be something to be added to his Mustang arsenal.

He smiled, and only grinned harder when the entirety of the team flinched. This day was much, much better than he'd thought it was going to be.

...Even if Al would kill him when he got home. And even if he had just guaranteed that his life would be that much harder, because he and Roy would have to keep this a secret. And even if walking was a struggle (he hoped the team wouldn't notice as he stalked past them). But...

He smiled at Havoc in particular as he passed, ignoring the opening door behind him, and heard Havoc say distinctly say to Breda, 'Well, the boss looks pleased, and the General looks pissed. He just _had_ to piss him off, didn't he?'

But he _knew_ Roy was far from pissed. And now he felt focussed and centred for the first time in years, and he _knew_ that it was more than a side effect of the fucking fantastic sex he'd just had. And, well...

Okay. Roy Mustang had never known magic. Ever. But Ed had been right to believe one of his core beliefs was wrong – he'd just picked the wrong one. He thought.

Perhaps Roy _wasn't_ a bastard of monumental proportions. Maybe. It would be one hell of a fight, but Ed would have to find out.

Ed was unsurprised to find that there was no opposition from his heart, and set off for home.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to comment. Unnecessary if you commented on its original home on FFN.


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